Balance
by smilelaughread
Summary: A series of unrelated stories about love, shame, mistakes, and innocence. Currently: Severus/Hermione, bonding over potions.
1. SiriusLucius - Angst

_Translucent - 8/50 for the Diversity Pairing Bootcamp Challenge_

 _Lucius/Sirius - for the Fanfic Dominoes Game._

* * *

The one and only time Regulus Black had - as his mother said - entertained respectable company in the rarely-used parlour of the house was when he made an incredibly audacious request of the Malfoy heir.

Sirius was only home because he had to be, according to the law, under his parents' supervision for at least five periods of two days in the year. If he broke those terms, there were some nasty magic restrictions to be placed on him until he turned 17. His only way out from the law's meddling was through complete legal and magical disinheritance, which he was wary about causing before he could ensure a safe place to stay outside of Hogwarts.

It was his sixth day at home.

As it was, he knew Lucius Malfoy would be a guest at their house at two. He'd managed to convince a house-elf to bring him up some food so he would be able to stay out of their _esteemed company_ 's hair.

He and Regulus were on very strained terms, and he had not been able to get his entire complaint about Malfoy out of his mouth before Regulus had neatly shut him down.

 _"Your associations have brought nothing but shame to the family - it's time I started acting like the heir that you will never be."_

Sirius had not been able to respond.

Somehow, the relationship between Sirius and his brother had been a constant amidst the admonishments from their parents upon Sirius' acceptance into Gryffindor. Finally, almost seven years later, the friendly relationship was being put to the test. Sirius was very close to losing every tie he had to his family, and knowing estrangement was coming did not dull the pain.

There was a shimmer in the wards that Sirius was connected to by blood - possibly not for long - that announced the arrival of their guest. Sirius paced to the window, curious despite himself, because the younger Blacks had only ever read about receiving guests. Of course, he remembered that there was a formal greeting at the apparition point just outside the house.

Regulus, who bore striking resemblance to Sirius to the point that it was sometimes jarring, could be seen extending an arm in greeting. He knelt, very briefly, and then rose so they could circle each other twice. Sirius recognized the white-blond hair that hung slightly past Malfoy's chin. It was neatly combed, smooth, and he wore fine robes.

Sirius looked down at his old, sloppy clothing and felt a ridiculous wave of embarrassment.

The next time he looked through the window, Regulus and Malfoy had disappeared into the house.

He tried to distract himself, truly, but Sirius could only take a few minutes of staring at the ceiling and trying to stop himself from spying on his brother. Going slightly stir-crazy after the extended time he had been spending around his family and also knowing who was currently visiting his house, Sirius finally sat up and decided to take a shower. Perhaps some hot water would relax him just enough to get his mind off of the state of his family life.

As per usual, he cast a quick charm on the wall he shared with the bathroom. He always checked to make sure there was no one there.

He'd chosen a bedroom near the entrance of the house, far from the more spacious rooms to the back. It had been a location decided upon based on its access to multiple escape routes. However, that location had also been at the expense of some freedom, as guests at the house often used his bathroom throughout the day.

Once, he'd walked in to see Bellatrix applying hair-removing charms to her legs and _other places_ \- Sirius shivered at the memory.

His wall shimmered under the charm, suddenly translucent, and he noted that it was empty. Grabbing a clean shirt and some other clothes, he left his room and turned right to go to the bathroom. Voices came up the stairs, hushed tones and hurried whispers that Sirius couldn't stop himself from listening to. Disappointment flooded him when he realized the mumbles were all he could hear - trying to decipher words would be a fruitless effort.

Then again, perhaps their conversation would be about that all-too-dreadful topic that Sirius feared most. The war.

Naked and shivering, Sirius stepped under the warm spray, turning his back to feel some relief in the tense muscles at his shoulders. He let his head hang down, hair falling forward, and tried to make his mind blank. He would one day resign himself to the knowledge that he and his family lay on opposing sides of the war, but that day had not yet arrived. Instead, blatantly neglecting to think about the topic would have to do.

He thought briefly of wanking, but there was mild fear in his stomach that would not allow him to relax enough. It would keep his mind off things, though. With a deep breath, he tried to think about his usual arousing images. He had an open mind, as far as those things went, and there was normally no end to his supply of imaginative scenarios. Still, he was at a loss.

For some reason, Lucius Malfoy's pointed features appeared in his head to give him a tight-lipped sneer.

Giving up, Sirius turned and quickly rinsed his whole body before turning off the water.

He'd failed at distracting himself, and spent the time it took him to get dressed thinking about different ways to go about it.

A book? Too boring.

Writing some letters? Impossible, with his mother's spells in place to stop him reaching his friends.

A nap.

With no great difficulty, Sirius flung himself over the bed he had occupied every night for the first eleven years of his life. It was soft, comfortable, and he fell asleep in the uncomfortable position on his stomach with an ease that came with the desperation to escape reality.

He awoke to the sound of water running. Sirius jolted upright, sitting back on his legs. His arm was numb after laying on it, and he used the other to rub at his sleep-blurred eyes, hoping to be able to locate where the sound of water was coming from.

Something was wrong about his room, he knew. He couldn't place it.

On his eyes' second trip around the room, he realized that the wall was still charmed. He could see through it like a one-sided mirror, and the small room was _occupied._

Lucius Malfoy, pale and thin, was just metres from him. Sirius sat, frozen in shock, but watched attentively. His brain felt mushy after being woken suddenly.

He could so easily cancel the spell, convince himself he was dreaming, and go back to sleep.

Something kept his eyes trained on the guest.

Malfoy, after turning the water off, carefully wiped his hands on the small towel provided for exactly that purpose. Then, with very clear and deliberate motions, his hands reached to straighten his collar. Sirius fixed his gaze on the bony hands that moved with far more grace and precision than should've been possible.

Malfoy's left sleeve dropped slightly, pulled by gravity, and a dark tattoo peeked out.

All of Sirius' disgust, which had been misplaced until that point, returned in full force. He almost felt breathless, and not in a good way.

Malfoy stood for all Sirius had rebelled against and fought. Malfoy was the reason innocent people were dying. Malfoy was everything wrong in his life.

Why was he still unable to look away?

The mirror in front of Malfoy was fixed with an icy glare, but to Sirius, it seemed that Malfoy was looking directly at him. His insides froze under the pressure, and he only felt his pulse start up again when the look melted into another seemingly well-practiced one.

This one was a small smile, like an apology or concession. Though signs of aloofness and derision were gone, warmth and sincerely were also lacking.

Sirius hated him.

The control he held, the attention he received due to his name, and his focus created the image of a man far more experienced than Malfoy was. Sirius felt something unusual stir inside him, and Lucius Malfoy stepped back from the mirror to fix his robes again. Sirius felt himself start to mirror Malfoy's movements, but caught himself and scowled.

Invisible wrinkles were smoothed out in fluid moves, and Sirius wondered if Malfoy was always so composed. There was a rush of blood through his veins when he imagined seeing abandon or pleasure replace the cold of the man from which he was separated by only a thin wall.

If he could have, he would have burned those thoughts immediately.

Something like excitement made him lick his lips and stand with no conscious thought.

He hated Malfoy. The aristocratic death eater embodied the very ideals that Sirius despised, and every flicker of fabricated emotion over the smooth skin of his face made Sirius want to ruin it with a crooked nose that would be caused by his own fist.

And then Malfoy turned to the door. Panic, perhaps - or maybe insanity - took control of Sirius. He took several large steps to the door. The rug on his floor ensured that he _almost_ tripped upon exiting his room, though his flailing did land him in contact with Lucius Malfoy.

"Excuse me," he said breathlessly. He had not though this through far enough and had nothing more to say. Should he acknowledge Malfoy as his guest officially?

Bitter distaste lingered on Sirius' tongue when he remembered who he was dealing with, but it didn't make continuing their exchange any easier.

"Thank you for having me in your home," Malfoy muttered. "Though I preferred it when the Gryffindors stayed in their rooms to play while the adults had their conversations."

Sirius' face burned as he took in the insult. With too much emotion, he said, "As did I. Everyone knows Slytherins are never invited to join the games, and we're better off as such."

Malfoy's eyes narrowed to slits, though that was the only indication he had even heard Sirius.

"Oh, we _play._ We're very experienced, as a rule."

Sirius sputtered, mind launched into the gutter with the unexpected words.

Malfoy lifted one thin finger and caught Sirius, who was frozen, by surprise when he trailed the fingertip along Sirius' jaw. Ice spilled through him, along with a fire that made Sirius want to push Malfoy down the stairs.

"I must return to your brother," Malfoy said, though his gaze was heavy on Sirius' mouth. With a controlled flick of his hair, he turned away from Sirius with a move that made his robes billow. "A pleasure."

Sirius knew he was being toyed with, but the wink Malfoy gave over his shoulder left Sirius' knees shaky.

He had to leave. Being at home was driving him mad. There was tightness in his trousers as Malfoy descended the stairs, but Sirius ignored it.

Two things were on his mind: Malfoy and escape.

Malfoy was loathsome, but he couldn't shake the primal attraction he had felt. Sirius felt nauseated. He wanted very badly to jump out of his skin.

He threw clothes into his trunk, shrinking and packing other relevant items. His mind was blank, but his heart didn't stop pounding. Malfoy didn't leave his brain.

Bags packed, charm on the wall to the bathroom _definitely_ deactivated, but still feeling guilty and dirty, Sirius stood at the door to his room and said goodbye. One last farewell.

He was probably being rash, but he could not bear to stay in a house where he'd felt— _that._ His birthday was relatively soon, and he would probably be able to survive until then. Sacrifices had to be made, and he simply could not endure _home_ anymore.

Malfoy, death eaters, war, betrayal.

Family, lust, home, safety.

Friends and his conviction that his side was the right side saw his actions through. Sirius apparated away with his belongings. He left nothing behind for his parents. Perhaps he would never see them again.

Sirius' past broke away from him, separating forever. His brain pounded. Malfoy flickered in his mind's eye, all straight lines and pale skin.

He shook in fear.

Being a Black lay behind him.

James' family house and a determinedly Malfoy-free future stood in front of him. He wavered. A tear splashed onto his cheek. He raised an arm to knock. He did not look back.


	2. HarryHarry - Self-appreciation, Humour

_Harry/Harry - for the Fanfic Dominoes Game at HPFC._

 _Walking - 9/50 for the Diversity Pairing Bootcamp Challenge._

 _21\. Thea_ _–_ _Write about a beautiful and very good character. Alt; write about someone noticing someone else's beauty._

* * *

The empty street echoed Harry's elated shouting back to him. It was dark, and buildings cast in black rose up around him, but he had eyes for his destination only - home. He knew it would be empty, and revelled in the knowledge that he would finally have some peace.

The soft carpet of the main entrance to his building was comforting, though it was too hot indoors for someone who had just run from the nearest apparition point. Indeed, there was sweat trickling down the hairs on his back and normal breathing had yet to return to him, but when he noticed that the lift was not coming down any time soon, he opted for the stairs.

It was significantly cooler as he walked up the stairwell - cold concrete shielding him from the summer's humidity and the day's surprisingly overwhelming heat. It was waning in the early evening, but the air still rested heavily in his lungs. His footsteps alone thudded up the stairs, and he took them two at a time to be home sooner.

 _He'd cracked it._

All those nights of staying late at the Ministry had paid off, because they'd finally managed to locate three runaway Death Eaters who'd been causing trouble.

Harry felt his pride morph and grow as he realized it had been almost exclusively his work that had led them to the discovery, and triumphantly muttered the charms to undo the wards set up around his flat. As refreshing as drinking a glass of ice-cold water, Harry stepped into his artificially cooled flat and felt the chilly air wash over him. He closed the door behind him. For a moment, his eyes fell shut as he leaned back against the solid wood of the door.

Then, he let out another whoop, punching the air beside him.

His neighbours would surely think he was crazy, but Harry's heart was still beating with the exciting knowledge that he'd - of his own skill, not due to some prophesy - managed to do some good for the wizarding world as a whole. He'd done something good not because his wand was his enemy's twin, but because he knew exactly to bring the other person down.

With one final heave of his chest, Harry let out a big breath and finally began to relax.

His first stop was the bathroom, as a good shower was definitely in order after the exertion and nearly 48 hours at the Ministry offices. For a moment, he paused in front of the mirror.

He smiled at his reflection and was thrown back to his childhood at the expression he saw there. He reminded himself of being eleven years old, when amazement and wonder had been his default emotions. He'd grown and filled out since then, now towering significantly above the countertop. His shoulders were broad, and his features nicely, evenly distributed on his shining face.

With impish playfulness, he transfigured his robes back from the muggle clothes he'd turned them into and then shrugged them to the floor, leaving his torso bare. He flexed a muscle at the reflection, smile dropped in the seriousness of the appreciation he had to give himself. Energy and movement fought under the skin as muscles tensed and bunched together rather impressively.

Harry ran one hand through his hair, and it lay like that, slicked down, because it was so damp with sweat. He carefully pulled down a few tendrils of hair so they would rest just around his eyes. He looked groomed and, if he could say so, _exceedingly attractive_.

For a moment, he regretted not having a partner with whom to share himself, but a light went off in his head when he realized that he really didn't need anyone else. He could appreciate himself well enough.

Merlin, the hidden but present muscle of his stomach was just so _nice_ to the touch. The mountains and valleys of the adjoining muscles were obvious to the touch. The thin trail of hair that led to other, hidden places was so soft.

Harry's hands moved to his waist to pinch at the skin there, and he momentarily admired his own thin waist, but he quickly raised them to his chest. His nipples were hard nubs, and the sweat had mostly dried from them, but his pectoral muscles were hard like the rest of his muscles and still glistened.

Fingers slipped over smooth skin, and Harry felt himself grow half-hard when he pinched one nipple between two fingers.

Curiosity piqued, he dropped his trousers to the ground and stepped out of his boxers, turning so he could get a view of his arse. It was rather small, though firm and well-formed, so Harry didn't really have anything to complain about. Sitting back on the counter and feeling sparks as the cold surface pressed against his warm skin, Harry stretched like a lazy cat enjoying late-afternoon sun.

He was exhausted, every muscle putting up a protest at his movements - yet, he was clearly not tired in the ways that mattered, he thought with amusement. Running his hands down strong thighs just once, Harry walked to the shower and knew full well what would take up the next minutes.

The glass fogged up, and Harry regretted that he wouldn't be able to see a reflection of himself, resigning himself to just another wanking session.

Then, he remembered he was a wizard, damn it.

A whispered, wandless charm later, the glass surrounding him became opaque and reflective, and not even three hundred charging hippogriffs running through his flat could have stopped him from wrapping his hand around his erection and groaning at the sight of three other Harry's doing the same.


	3. SeverusLucius - Angst

_Severus/Lucius - for the Fanfic Dominoes Game at HPFC._

 _Angst - for the School of Prompts Challenge._

 _25\. Use one of the three unforgivable curses to inspire a story - for the Year-Long Scavenger Hunt._

* * *

Their masks covered their faces, reducing them from humans with a goal to puppets. Humanity was stripped from them, as well as originality of thought. There was nothing freeing about following the Dark Lord.

Rebellion had been a mistake, for it had led them somewhere deadly.

Severus watched, eyes heavy with all that he'd seen that night, as the Dark Lord marched around. He was only half-listening, exhausted and spent, knowing full well that even one mistake might cost him his life.

He'd seen enough proof of that already.

There was something very chilling about being in a graveyard on a regular day, somewhat more so when they were doing unnameable things to long-dead muggles in some kind of twisted rite. The moon was thin in the sky, offering them little more than a faint light. The wind pulled apart smells that were better not mentioned. It caused dry leaves to rustle and old trees to creak.

His Occlumency shields were impossible to uphold indefinitely, and the fatigue that Severus felt rush through him threatened to pull him right under the ground and into a grave just for him.

"The world will be rid of them when we're finished!"

The voice was strong, booming through the night, and Severus once again cursed himself. He was standing with the other hooded Death Eaters because of his own mistakes, a fact that was never far from his mind and one that caused a bottle of firewhiskey to rarely be far from his fingertips.

How could he ever have thought he'd blend into a group such as this one?

"We'll kill every last one."

Severus knew what pain looked like. He knew, almost intimately, the stiffness of death. He could see, every time he het his eyelids droop, flashes of green and then _falling_. He knew what it felt like to cause light to be extinguished from a body - though it was never so poetic as that.

He had blood on his hands in a way that he knew was unforgivable.

Memories of moments caught onto his train of thought. They reminded him of the taste of desperation and the rush of success that quickly vanished in light of what he had to do time and time again.

He had no one to stand beside him for comfort, no one to support him with fervour as Bella proudly stood beside Rodolphus. A year earlier, and he would never have thought that he would ever wish for a relationship so incomplete and dangerous as theirs.

What he had was far worse.

He was tangled - caught in lies and deceit, caught in insanity, and caught by Lucius Malfoy.

The tall man was recognizable, even behind the mask, and Severus knew that he had to limit the number of times they looked at each other. The shadows where Lucius' eyes sat, hidden by the mask, chilled Severus to the bone. Still, he knew through unspoken words that they were both reluctant to follow the Dark Lord, despite the tattoos on their arms that overrode their internal declarations.

They both knew the gravity of the choices they'd made.

Lucius, at least, had his family as a very good reason for his hesitance.

Severus was the coward, because he had no one but himself.

"Malfoy!" A cackle that Bella echoed, one that drifted up like smoke and filled the air around them. A warning. Severus felt a chill in his blood that he didn't think he would shake for hours. "I'd like you to help me with a demonstration."

Severus, then, looked at Lucius, judging that it was an inconspicuous enough moment. Lucius was already gone, standing in the middle of their haphazard group. He was staring at the ground, head bowed in respect and fear that the Dark Lord might choose a moment to sift through his thoughts.

Severus remembered their exchanged touches, their whispers and closed eyes.

Never, not in all their time fumbling about, had Lucius been so complacent. There was always a fire in his motions, always purpose and intent. He had generations upon generations of Malfoys guiding him with confidence. His touches were always firm, his grasp rough, and his words sharp. Severus lived for their encounters and he suspected Lucius did as well, at least by the bruising fervour he displayed when they finally got moments alone.

" _Crucio!_ "

Severus' thoughts fled, abruptly interrupted, as he heard the Dark Lord's shout. It was almost as though the curse had been cast on him, because watching Lucius' body twisting and contorting threatened to bring him to his knees. Severus felt every jolt and every shout as though it had come from him, though he had to maintain his composure.

He wished it were him.

He'd been under the spell before, knew the burning in every muscle and bone. He knew the weakness, the blankness, and the desperation. He knew what it was like to want to die, positive that the sweet relief of death was the only thing that might balance out all of the blinding pain and twisting helplessness.

 _Occlumency._

He scrambled for control.

For once, Severus was glad for the mask's offer of privacy, because he might have been caught if people had been able to see the emotions twist across his features. He wanted to step forward, but both he and Lucius knew that what they had was strictly private.

Both he and Lucius knew the punishment for interrupting any one of the Dark Lord's demonstrations.

It didn't stop panic from rising, acrid, in his throat. It didn't stop the agony of watching Lucius cry from the pain. It didn't stop him cursing the Dark Lord with every other thought. He teetered between complete shock and the crazy desire to jump between Lucius and the Dark Lord.

 _If only_ , he thought helplessly, _we had anything but this._

An eternity later, Lucius was released, and Severus' heart hammered when he watched blond hair splayed through the mud, dirtied, defiled.

"And _that_ ," the Dark Lord said, sounding gleeful, "is how we will torture them. Let that be a lesson."


	4. SiriusHarry - What You Can't Have

_24\. Atlas – Alt; write about Sirius Black. For the Greek Mythology Mega Prompt Challenge at HPFC._

 _Harry/Sirius - for the Fanfic Dominoes Game._

* * *

Usually, when the world went to shit, Harry Potter was very quick to place the blame on himself. Still, on that very silent and eerily cold night in the middle of the summer, the one responsible for the events that transpired was hard to pin.

Harry was half-hidden around a corner, having been awakened from slumber by a nightmare whose teeth were still lodged somewhere in his skin, causing his heart to pound and his throat to go dry. He'd come down for some water, hoping it might chase the shadows away, but had found Sirius, a mere spectre in the low light, nursing a butterbeer, instead.

Something about the curl of his godfather's lips against the glass gave Harry pause.

The night was deep and dark.

Everyone was asleep.

The thirst changed and warped.

Sirius looked exhausted, clearly driven half-mad from being trapped at Grimmauld all the time. Harry knew what it meant to have freedom and be able to leave the house on a whim, having been deprived of that ease of movement by the Dursleys for long years of his life. Molly Weasley had also taken away Sirius' stores of Firewhiskey, just days earlier. He was trapped.

Harry lifted a hand to tug at his shirt, which had begun to stick to his sweaty skin. The movement caught the other man's attention.

Cutting through the darkness, a sharp gaze met Harry's, and Sirius' lips stretched in a shadowy grin.

"So nice to see you," he commented, filling the darkness with words that sounded foreign in their volume. "Come sit with me."

Harry inched forward, terrified and amazed by the feline grace in Sirius' movements as he stood and pulled out a chair for Harry. With his heart racing, Harry sat. The hairs at the back of his neck stood on end as Sirius' presence lingered just behind him, just out of reach. He clenched his jaw and hoped for strength.

A violent shiver ripped through him as he felt fingers in his hair just moments later. The soft, fleeting touch was enough to set his nerves on edge. He closed his eyes. Harry didn't know what to do when the abrupt heat inside of him threatened to consume him. The touch sent secondary tingles through him. He yearned to be able to press back into the touch, face heating at the idea of asking for more.

Sirius moved away, taunting, with a forlorn sigh.

Harry wondered what the unnamed feeling that had bubbled inside of him could possibly be. It was caught somewhere between embarrassment, desire, and disappointment.

It was as silent as a graveyard in that kitchen. And pitch-black. The cool air stuck to his skin like his shirt had, earlier.

Usually, when Harry's mind travelled to dangerous places, he could blame it on Voldemort.

The way his body ached to be held by someone who might understand his losses - by Sirius - was of his own sinful doing, and it was as delicious as it was frightening.

His traitorous voice was the next to break the surface of the tangible hush that enveloped them. He marred the smoothness of the space between them by expelling his thoughts into the real world. He put himself in peril each time he opened his mouth, teetering somewhere between appropriate conversation and his deepest desires.

With the sound rasping in his throat, Harry whispered, "I couldn't sleep." _Not alone._

Sirius was back, just beside him. The warmth from his body, full of vitality and life that was being wasted in the depths of Grimmauld place, seemed to scald Harry. He didn't dare look up to meet Sirius' gaze.

A hand was placed on his shoulder, and Harry couldn't stop his gasp at the contact. His stomach knotted.

"Neither could I."

And then the calloused skin of Sirius' hand was inching up his neck, trailing at the exposed skin. Harry tried not to move, barely breathing. His eyes watered with the scrutiny, and a muscle twitched at his temple. His hands folded into tight fists in his lap.

The tingling touch travelled to the curve of his jaw, running to his ear, and then swept very gently over the arch of his cheekbone. A wayward finger traced along his lip.

Harry had to resist the urge to chase the elusive touch with his tongue. He had to fight not to respond at all. He would do nothing to transport them back to reality.

Because, by God, he was dreaming. He had to be.

Sirius knelt beside him, hand finally making it under his chin once more. Harry's face was lifted, gaze forced to Sirius', and blood heated just below the surface of Harry's skin, bringing a flush with it.

"You're so much like your father," Sirius whispered, and then their lips connected.

Harry felt his insides reach a boil, feeling like steam should be coming off of his body. His mind went blank, his lips slack, but he was kept in place by Sirius, who stood over him. He wanted to reciprocate, but he was stunned. He wanted to touch and to hold. He wanted to be understood in the most primal of ways.

Suddenly, his body was screaming with desire, filled to the brim with _need_.

Sirius seemed to understand, and did the opposite of what Harry wanted him to do. He stepped aside. His face was like the palest marble, all sharp angles with the darkness cutting harshly across his skin. His eyes were troubled. Harry thought he caught the glittering of moisture at Sirius' eyes. Reality became muddled around him, or perhaps Harry was just looking through tears, like Sirius.

"I'm sorry, Harry," Sirius whispered, then turned on his heel and escaped from the room.

Harry awoke the next morning, cheek stuck to the table, and brushed it aside as a dream. A nightmare. The thrumming in his body was back when he saw Sirius arrive for some food, though he tried with overwhelming fervour to rid himself of anything his imagination could conjure. Harry was not James, and he had to align himself with the knowledge that Sirius only ever saw his best friend - his _dead_ best friend - in him.

He left the table without eating breakfast, appetite nonexistent but for Sirius, who was as untouchable as a ghost.


	5. HermioneSeverus - Potions and Luck

Hermione Granger often counted herself as one of the lucky ones in the enormous world she shared with billions of other people.

Other days, such as this one, she cursed her very existence.

It was raining, and she'd forgotten an umbrella. Unfortunately, sometimes magic just couldn't do it. Hermione needed her wand to protect her from the media figures that were incessantly hounding her on the eve of the fifth anniversary of the war.

She also urgently needed potions ingredients, but all the shops except for one were firmly closed at eight in the evening. She hadn't been able to get off work until then. Hermione hadn't even eaten since breakfast that morning.

When she arrived at the end of the street that branched from Diagon Alley, she ducked under the protective awning of the nondescript shop with a small prayer that it be open.

"Until 7?" Hermione shouted into the cold, brisk wind that cooled the May air. _"Merlin."_

She tugged her cloak tighter and leaned forward to peer in through the window.

And then she was falling through the doorway, ungraceful. Someone had opened the door, and she looked up from the floor to lock eyes with a very familiar figure.

"Professor," she said, standing hastily and pushing wet, curly tendrils of hair from her face. She'd barely heard about him in recent years - she shouldn't have been surprised that he'd have settled in a small potions supplies store. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

He glared at her, looking meaningfully at the puddle that was accumulating at her feet, and she spelled them away quickly. Her heart was pounding, almost as though they were back in class.

"I was about to leave," he said, voice low and rumbly. Hermione shivered - from the cold, she tried to convince herself. After a pause, during which Hermione was sure he would shoo her out, he continued. "I don't think it will be a problem to stay for you, though. I'd never refuse an eager student."

Hermione didn't know how to respond to that. He'd never called her anything but insufferable. And he'd most certainly never given her a soft half-smile to accompany the almost-compliment.

She shivered again.

He seemed to know what to do. "What do you need, Miss Granger?"

Finally, some semblance of control returned to Hermione.

She tried to remember the ingredients she needed. "I need clover harvested at the full moon, 100 grams. I also need two eyes of newt."

He raised his eyebrows at her, presumably because the two ingredients were very part of a popular calming potion, but so much clover had the added effect of mood stabilization. She raised her chin in return, and then he spun around to move behind the counter.

Hermione followed, noticing that the way his robes billowed was no longer intimidating. Or perhaps he'd stopped the dramatics after the war. Or perhaps she should remember that she wasn't a student the way he was no longer a professor.

She remembered very clearly the morning that Severus Snape's limp body had crawled to the Hogwarts hospital wing. He'd been barely alive, only scraping by because of a preventative (and experimental) anti-venom potion. Hermione had nearly fainted at the sight of his desperation and determination.

He was a man who would fight for his reputation and turn his life around. As rumours went, he'd apologized to all of the victims, especially the more notable ones, during his time as potions master at Hogwarts. Neville, Hermione heard, had been the one to set the precedent: forgiveness. He'd also removed his portrait from the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts.

Dimly, as though through some sort of film, Hermione finally realized that Snape was staring at her. His hair, as oily as ever but somewhat shorter, was tucked behind both ears. With a start, she noticed that the lines beside his eyes were far less pronounced, the sneer absent from his mouth.

"I'd expect Hermione Granger, of all people, to be paying attention."

"Sorry," she said, pursing her lips. "I'm rather preoccupied."

He nodded and left her to her musings, ducking into some room to get her ingredients.

Something was wrong. That tactful man who ran the shop was most certainly not the same Severus Snape she had known. No matter how reformed, the transformation was almost unbelievable.

His light grey robes, she noted, even softened the pallor of his face in a way that dark black robes never could do. He actually looked... normal.

Hermione shivered a third time, jumping when a hand on her shoulder whirled her around.

"Pepper-up," Snape said, holding out a small vial. "Not a big measure, but enough to shake the cold from your bones."

Hermione looked at the vial with suspicion before looking up at him again. There was concern lining his features, somehow. Hermione didn't know what to do with that information. With slow movements, she pulled the stopper out.

She observed just the right amount of steam rise from the mouth of the glass vial, waiting as it changed from blue to black in the air, and then swirled it once. From her peripheral vision, saw him nod in approval.

That was the tipping point, she decided, of weird occurrences that she couldn't handle. Snape's approval was terrifying.

She drank the entirety of the liquid in one swig, screwing her eyes shut at the heat that rose through her.

"Thank you," she whispered hoarsely when the immediate effects wore off.

He nodded. "Are you pursuing a Mastery in potions? You're very precise in your handling. Then again, you were always proficient."

"Actually, I am." Hermione didn't know why her stomach twisted when she saw the pride in his eyes. She was reading too much into it. He was probably just relieved that his work as an undercover-twice-over Death Eater hadn't permanently scarred her.

"I wish you luck in that," he said. Then, with a small flicker of a frown, he said, "Although I do not have 100 grams of clover. If you could return tomorrow morning, I should have it at opening. I can pull some strings."

Hermione thought that would have to do. If she was quick, the potion would still be ready in time for Harry's use before the Ministry function. She'd also have a chance to recover before her next interaction with him.

"That sounds fine."

He relaxed noticeably, and then extended a small bag to her. "Eyes of newt," he explained.

When she took the bag, it was with a slight brushing of her fingers against his, and Hermione had never known her mind to be so silent as it was in that moment. She didn't even breathe.

He looked surprised, then his eyes narrowed in consideration. Hermione was struck with the feeling that they were in the same year instead of a generation apart. Something about the way he held his shoulders, relaxed and unbothered, fed her the idea that he was young. After years of tension and cruel glares, Hermione supposed that it was only logical that he seem younger.

His gaze had the same carefree energy that Teddy possessed, and it was something that made Hermione's heart warm with happiness. He'd paid the price of his actions. He'd lived through the subsequent years. He was allowed to, finally, start again.

She just didn't know why it made her feel so connected to him.

Perhaps she was simply ahead of her age, projecting herself onto him because she dreamt of being as accomplished as he in the field of potions.

Hermione bid him goodbye after paying and then stepped back out into the rain with a fire in the pit of her stomach that had nothing to do with pepper-up.

* * *

Hermione blamed Severus Snape for her inability to sleep later that night. Then she'd remember the Ministry and had to roll over to physically rid herself of the thoughts.

Soon, she found that she was thinking in circles: redemption, forgiveness, friendship, the war, loss, luck, life, growth, redemption... Finally, Hermione decided to get out of bed and make herself a cup of tea.

If she couldn't sleep, she would study. That was always a good motto.

The next morning, Hermione awoke to find her face pressed into the pages of a book. The words swam before her as she rubbed her eyes. The tea was half-empty and cold on the desk beside her.

And she'd slept in.

Hermione jumped up, changing into clothes fit for the public with a speed she hadn't known she possessed and tried to fix her hair a little. It had grown rather frizzy since the humidity of the previous day.

When nothing she did made a difference, Hermione decided to forget it. She took her wand and apparated to Snape's shop, familiar with the destination. She would avoid the continued bad weather, at least.

Turning on her heel and feeling the squeeze of apparition forced the breath from her, and she found herself wedged against someone in the small entranceway to the shop.

"Perfect timing," he commented.

She grinned at him.

Their transaction was rather quick, though Hermione was slightly disappointed that there wasn't anything to drag it out any longer. His presence, newly calm, soothed her nerves and sleep-deprived mind.

And - she'd paid him the exact amount necessary, why was he returning change? She wondered just how tired and distracted she was when he reached out a hand. She held out a hand nonetheless and was surprised when a cool glass bottle was pressed into her palm.

"A little bit of liquid luck," Snape said, looking mildly embarrassed. "A few drops, and perhaps we'll be able to clear up that storm outside." He gave her a small smile. "It's something of a a nuisance, don't you think?"

Hermione stared, uncomprehending, at his gift. Something like joy danced in her chest.

She extended an arm and smiled sincerely when he took it and shook her hand.

"Thank you, Professor," she said. "This might be just what I needed."

"Not a problem," he returned, "sometimes a little bit of luck is all we need. Please, call me Severus."

* * *

The next time she visited him, she used the opportunity to stock up on some necessary ingredients. Her experimentation called for some rare ingredients, and she counted her blessings that she was safe to request them with Severus - he wouldn't ask too many questions.

"Crushed rose petals, please."

He raised an eyebrow. "Is this for a potion?"

Hermione blushed, inexplicably. "Yes, of course! I'm experimenting with mood potions."

He relaxed, leaning forward against the counter. Again, she was struck by how young he seemed. His hands were large but careful. Hermione knew it was an asset - when chopping ingredients, clearly.

"What are you working on right now? Something about affection or love, I assume?"

Hermione froze as he said it, eyes still stuck on his long, thin fingers and strong forearms that showed with his sleeves rolled up as they were. The dark mark was faded, red against his pale skin, and Hermione wanted to touch it.

"Yes," she breathed, "but I'm looking into it as a remedy to anxiety. Security, I suppose. I'm working on it."

He hummed his approval, which made Hermione's stomach do a flip, and then he turned and disappeared into his back room.

Hermione slumped forward, face in her hands, as she heard him rummaging around. She could allow herself to get caught up in Severus Snape, of all people, could she? Besides, he wouldn't want to...

He couldn't.

Her heart ached when he returned with a small bag full of red petals, but she smiled as always. Pushing some hair behind an ear, she fumbled with her coins until she could give him the exact amount. She practically ran from the shop, ignoring the way he called out after her in confusion, burning with the feel of his skin against her fingertips.

Her hand closed around the small bottle in the pocket of her robes.

She knew that she would be back the next day.


	6. Peter - Stream of Consciousness

_Rat - for the Hogwarts Writing Club Competition, 770-830 words._

* * *

Peter felt his bones stretch and thicken once again. Hair disappeared and his field of view grew. Reality warped as perspective changed, something like an optical illusion. Slowly, consciousness returned to him - thought and emotion. The first fact he could acknowledge through the fog in his mind was that his face was pressed against a very cold floor. He twitched once, twice, before thinking to push himself upright. The muscles of his arms screamed.

A burst of pain flashed through him, white-hot, blinding.

"Peter!"

James. Sirius. Remus. In unison. Far too loud. Too much.

He groaned.

It slowly returned to him. The spell, the intent, the shrinking and dropping and forgetting.

But that meant - he'd done it!

"Wha-" He tried to speak, but words and communication had been emptied from his mind, replaced by the acute nausea that caused his hands to clutch his stomach instinctively.

"Shh..." that was James, hand warm on his shoulder. Too big. He remembered looming figures.

"What was I?" The words finally managed to wrench their way from between his teeth, pulled out from the depths of his being.

Someone cleared their throat. The sound grated against Peter's sensitive mind. He couldn't think. None of the others had told him that the first transformation was so dreadful.

A blanket was thrown over him and he was jostled a little as they sat beside him. One of them was pacing in front of him. Probably Moony. He worried.

"A rat."

Peter blinked, unable to comprehend. He'd seen a stag, the black dog, and a terrifyingly powerful werewolf. He didn't fit. He had to fit.

"A rat?"

A tremor wracked through him, causing his teeth to chatter and his mind to go blank again. A bottle was pushed into his hand. Pepper-up.

He tipped it against his lips, liquid rushing through him as he swallowed hard, and didn't breathe again until all his nerves stopped burning.

"Merlin," he gasped, catching his breath. "That was the worst."

No one answered him, and Peter wondered if he'd disappointed them. What thoughts were rushing through their minds? Even his was full of contemplation, and he'd just transformed. Existence was a vague concept in his mind. He'd changed his entire being by will alone.

Still, he wasn't going to be helpful to Moony, not in the way James and Sirius were going to be. He'd been the last to go, the last to transform successfully, and it was all going to be for nothing. He'd broken the law to be a rat. What a joke.

Peter kicked himself internally, wondering where he'd gone wrong. Being a rat was never going to be useful.

"I'm sorry," he finally said when the silence grew too heavy and threatened to cause his lungs to collapse and his mind to shut off.

"You're sorry?" Moony turned on him, eyes wide and fists clenched. There was too much energy to see at once, so Peter had to close his eyes against it. It was all too much. And he was too little.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"A rat is nothing."

Remus tilted his face to the ceiling, a picture of suffering. Guilt shot through Peter.

" _I'm_ sorry," was the inexplicable response Moony gave.

"Why?"

"I don't know if you're going to be safe around me. I couldn't bear to hurt you."

Remus looked heartbroken, crazed. Scared, even, of his potential to destroy. Peter thought to himself that, despite his shortcomings in most places, at least he could trust himself more than Remus could. It had to count for something - he could keep himself and his friends safe, he could make a choice, he knew the impact of his actions.

How debilitating to be a threat to everyone around you and to be reminded of that fact so often.

A small twinge of relief reminded him that he was still physically there, in the room, and not dreaming, despite the unfocused ramblings of his mind. His bones were heavy and his muscles lethargic.

"I'll do my best," Peter promised, because his best was more than Remus could promise in return. It was a strange satisfaction, an incomplete transaction that favoured him, somehow.

Remus' face crumpled for a second, creasing around his eyes and drawing his lips into a frown. Peter leaned back, falling to the cool floor again, and let darkness take over. His eyelids fluttered shut, effectively isolating him from the room.

Theirs was a solemn exploration of magic which left little room for celebration of his accomplishment.

Becoming an animagus had been for Remus and Remus only, at least in the beginning. Inside, Peter congratulated himself on succeeding, finally.

The rest was collateral damage. Peter would adapt.

He was proud.

He slept, oblivious.


End file.
